


Sexta Autem Iudicium

by gracefultree



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-27 16:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6292270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefultree/pseuds/gracefultree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sixth Trial (or, Five Times James Wilson touched House's penis medically, and One Time there was absolutely nothing medical about it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Trial: New Orleans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet at a medical conference.

The first time James Wilson touched Gregory House’s penis was seventeen hours after House bailed him out of jail. Being young men, _doctors_ even, at a medical conference, drunk off their asses, comparing penis sizes seemed like a _very good idea_. Especially at three in the morning.  


“I’m longer,” House declared, pulling off his latex gloves, because measuring another man’s penis was a _medical procedure_. And neither of them trusted the other with his own measurements. Not after House explained his philosophy of “Everyone Lies.”  


“I’m a grower,” Wilson insisted. “Besides, the measurement doesn’t _really_ count unless we’re hard. Everyone knows that!”  


“Oh, you’ve done this before?” House asked, a glint in his eyes that shone through the drunken haze. “Do tell.”  


Wilson blushed crimson and turned away, disposing of his own gloves. He tucked himself back into his pants. “It was nothing.”  


“You have!” House barked, excitement radiating from every pore. “Now you’ve _got_ to tell me.”  


Wilson sighed. He spared a glance at House and noted with relief that he’d put himself back together, too. “I’ll only tell if you tell me when you’ve done it,” Wilson proposed. “And don’t try to say you haven’t. I wouldn’t believe you.” House nodded and poured more bourbon for them both. Wilson took a grateful gulp. “I was seventeen…”  


“Here we go,” House interrupted. “You’re gay.”  


“I’m not gay! I’m married.”  


“Getting divorced.”  


“Because I cheated, with _another woman!”_  


“Still gay,” House mumbled. “Go on.”  


Wilson sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He finished his drink and held out the glass for House to refill it. “I was seventeen, and I was watching porn with my best friend. We - um - we were enjoying it. He teased me about being small, so we - um - measured.”  


“Is that what you kids are calling it these days?” House asked with a leer and a smirk. At nine years older than Wilson, he felt almost like an old man. Almost. He could hold his liquor better, therefor he wasn’t really old.  


“It was one time, and all we did was jerk off together!” Wilson exclaimed. “I’m not gay! I haven’t touched a guy since, and I have no intention of —”  


“You touched me,” House pointed out.  


“Medically,” Wilson insisted. He swallowed the rest of his drink and headed to the bathroom to pee. When he came back, House was sitting on the bed paging through cable pay-per-view porn on the TV. “What are you _doing?”_ he demanded, snatching the remote from House’s hand and shutting off the TV.  


“I was _trying_ to find some porn,” House answered mockingly. He tried to grab the remote from Wilson. “Thought I could get a hand job out of it,” he added with a pout that Wilson immediately found adorable.  


“You’re not ordering porn on my tab!” Wilson said to stave off the feeling.  


“Relax,” House said, scratching his stomach and pretending to ignore Wilson ignoring his suggestion. “I’ll pay you back.”  


“My job paid for this room,” Wilson explained as if he were talking to a small child. “They paid for me to come to the conference. I don’t care how much porn you watch, but it will _not_ be on the bill I submit for reimbursement! I have a reputation to maintain.”  


“You’re no fun,” House grumbled, rolling off the bed to take care of his own needs in the bathroom now that there was no hope of sex.  


“It’s my first job out of med school!”  


“Whatever,” House replied from the bathroom. He hadn’t closed the door, and Wilson wasn’t surprised at all. He wasn’t sure anything could shock him at this point, with so much alcohol in his system.  


Wilson took the opportunity to climb back on the bed. He was still annoyed that House had preemptively checked out of his own room and moved his stuff to Wilson’s before he’d come to bail him out, thus making himself a permanent fixture in the room for the rest of the weekend, no matter what Wilson wanted. Still, it gave him an excuse to drink and goof off and have actual _fun,_ something he hadn’t been able to accomplish very well the last year of his life, with Sam’s anger and coldness and unpaid internship. None of that mattered, though, because he was _not_ sharing his bed with House. House could sleep on the floor, for all he cared.  


“The lacrosse team,” House said as he plopped himself down next to Wilson, shoving him out of the center of the bed so he could have enough room to relax. Their shoulders were touching, but Wilson pretended not to notice.  


“Huh?”  


“I was on the lacrosse team in college.”  


“What does that have to do with anything we’ve been talking about?” Wilson wondered.  


“Every year, the lacrosse team would gather in the locker room and measure. It was part of hazing the freshmen.” Wilson goggled at him, not sure he believed him. “Let’s have a little wager, shall we?” House asked, grinning at Wilson. “$50 says I can get hard faster than you.”  


Wilson blinked. Was he really going to do this? Yes. Yes, he was.  


“You’re on.”  


House pulled a sample packet of lubricant from his pocket and squirted it onto his hand.  


“That’s cheating!” Wilson protested. He was angry all of a sudden, because he needed the fifty dollars. He was getting divorced, and even with two jobs, he’d owe Sam a lot of money. He’d been the one to cheat, after all.  


“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” House replied, grabbing Wilson’s right wrist with his left hand and slathering half the lube onto it from his right.  


“I’m left-handed,” Wilson declared.  


“Oooh, southpaw!” House exclaimed happily. “I’ll win for sure!”  


Wilson paused for a moment. Then inspiration hit. “$100 says I can beat your left hand with my right.”  


House’s eyes flashed as he accepted. Even with the awkwardness of using their non-dominant hands, it didn’t take very long for them to be ready. By that point, Wilson was ready to forgo the money he’d won just to get off, but House would have none of it.  


“$200 says I’m still bigger.”  


Wilson, happily stroking his cock, shook his head. “Just get yourself off so we can sleep,” he mumbled, hissing as he rubbed his thumb over the head of his cock.  


“Seriously, I’m not losing $100 to you. $200 on size or I reach over there and make sure you can’t come tonight.”  


Wilson closed his eyes. He wanted to come, but he figured he knew House well enough already to know that he’d come through on his threat. “Fine.”  


They broke out the gloves and measuring tape again. House cursed colorfully. Then he took hold of Wilson’s cock and started jerking him off. It felt good. Wilson groaned and let his head drop back to the headrest. He reached for House to return the favor, and for a few blissful minutes, the only thing he knew was the feeling of House’s gloved hand on his cock, his lips on House’s, and the strange slick feeling of touching another man sexually.  


God, this was better than Jeremy, Wilson thought to himself. He’d never kissed Jeremy.  


They slept in boxers and t-shirts, curled around each other. In the morning, House was gone. Wilson didn’t find the note with House’s number until three days later, when he finally opened his briefcase to find the divorce papers. By then he had relegated their experience to the file in his head reserved for drunken mistakes and let it be, but a week after that he’d called House and heard about a job in Princeton from him, and decided that if they could get beyond that one night, maybe they could be friends after all.  



	2. Second Trial: Ring Removal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House has a problem and comes to Wilson to fix it. Unfortunately, it's complicated.

The second time Wilson touched House's penis, he'd just gotten engaged for the second time.    


The doorbell rang incessantly, waking Wilson from the deep sleep of the post-coital. The knocking that followed only made him want to bury his head under the pillow.  Bonnie groaned next to him.    


"James," she protested.    


"Probably House," he answered. "I'm not going to see him.  He needs to learn that three in the morning is not an acceptable time to visit."   


The pounding on the door increased.   


"Wilson!" House shouted, loudly enough for both of them, and probably the neighbors, to hear.  "Wilson, open up!"   


Wilson sighed.  "Maybe I'd better see what he wants," he grumbled.   


"Don't give him the satisfaction," she answered.   


"Wilson!" House shouted agin. "If I have to go to the ER with this, you'll wish you were never born!" he threatened.   


"ER?" Wilson wondered.    


"It's just one of his pranks," Bonnie protested.  "Don't you dare get out of this bed!"   


"Wilson!" House bellowed for the third time, his voice sounding strained.  


"He sounds like he's in pain," Wilson said, throwing off the covers. "I'd better see what he wants.” Bonnie covered her head with the blankets with a resigned groan.    


At the front door, Wilson's jaw dropped open.  House was wearing sweat pants under his jacket. Wilson had never seen him wear them outside of the house, and it was a clear sign of his distress. House was also sweating, pale, and shaking slightly. Wilson held open the door silently.   


"What took you so long?" House demanded. "Shtupping your girlfriend?"   


“Fiancé," Wilson corrected, watching the stiff way House moved.  He looked at his friend more closely. "What's wrong?”  


House blinked a few times before answering, and Wilson realized that he was drunk, or high, or both.  How he’d gotten to the apartment and what could’ve happened on the road would probably plague Wilson’s nightmares for a few nights, he thought to himself. Still, House had needed him and had come for help. Not that the stubborn jackass could _ask._  


"I was too high when she put it on me to pay attention. She passed out and I can't get it off.” He sounded extremely embarrassed. Something clicked in Wilson's head, and he glanced down at the erection House couldn't hide under the loose pants, surprised he hadn’t noticed it before.   


"A cock ring?" he asked incredulously.   


"Yes! Get it off me!"   


"Sit," Wilson ordered, indicating the sofa.  "I'll get my kit."  House had settled gingerly on the sofa when he got back.  He looked even more uncomfortable than he had before. "How long?" Wilson asked in his doctor voice, pulling on a pair of gloves.   


“Three and a half hours," House muttered into his hand. He had his eyes closed, his face screwed up in a grimace of pain.   


"Well, let's see what we're working with," Wilson said, kneeling down in front of House. He draped a blue cut-out sterile sheet over the affected area after House shimmied out of his pants. He hadn’t bothered with underwear because it would have chafed.  House’s penis was engorged, red and purple, and looked like the most painful thing Wilson had ever seen in his life.  He opened his kit. After a minute of careful examination, Wilson concluded that the only thing to do was cut the cock ring off, as it wasn’t the kind with a quick-release built into it.  He’d have to cut very carefully. House tried to remain silent during the examination, but the hisses of pain were unmistakeable. Wilson reached for the surgical scissors.   


"So, she said yes?" House asked out of the blue.   


"Huh?"   


"Bonnie.  She said yes?"   


"How did you know —?” Wilson began.   


"Saw the receipt for the ring in your wallet when I took money for lunch a few days ago," House explained.   


"Yes," Wilson answered, somehow not surprised that House would have done something like that.  "She said yes."   


"I'd say congratulations, but I don't like lying," House said.   


"You love lying!" Wilson protested. “You make a game of it!"   


“Only when it’s more fun to lie.”  


"It's not worth it to you to congratulate me on getting engaged when I have a pair of sharp scissors right next to your dick?” Wilson asked.   


"I'd say now was the best time for honesty," House replied. "You're making a mistake.  It won't last."   


"Why not?" Wilson asked, raising to House's bait.   


"She's needy.  You can't base a relationship on how much she needs you. She won't always need you, so you'll get bored and it'll all go down hill from there."   


"It's not like that, House. We need _each other_. We love _each other."_    


"Not as much as _I_ need you."   


"You don't need me," Wilson said with a derisive snort. "You need a woman. And not Maggie. If she does this kind of thing to you…”   


"You could be my woman," House teased. "I'd let you cook and clean for me."  Wilson looked up and met his eyes, a frown on his face. “I give great head,” House continued, his eyes sparkling, despite the pain he was in. He ran his fingers through Wilson’s hair.  "And you're going to make me come in another second, which has to mean _something,"_ House added with a wink.  His eyes trailed down to Wilson's hand on his penis, the other poised to cut off the cock ring.   


"I hardly think this is a sexual situation," Wilson grumbled, looking away, a pretty blush on his cheeks.  They both still remembered the night two years ago when they'd met. Wilson still remembered how exciting it had been to sit there on the bed, his side leaning against House, tugging desperately at himself as House did the same thing.  He remembered the slap of flesh on flesh and the breathy groans.  He remembered House’s lips, and the scratchiness of his stubble, and the feeling of House’s gloved hand stroking him, and the smell of their semen as they came.    


It was the closest he'd ever come to having sex with a man, and a part of him really wanted to see what it was all about. The other, more rational part of him wanted nothing to do with it.  He was straight. He was getting married. He had no room in his life for wondering what House's cock felt like without latex between them. He certainly had no room in his head for the sexual innuendoes House threw at him every chance he got, or the flirting, or the desire that curled in his belly whenever he though of that night.   


He tried not to think of that night, but every so often he had a dream… and in the dreams they always went farther than they had that night…  


House gripped the sofa cushions and closed his eyes tightly. "Hurry up," he moaned. "This is fucking painful!"   


Wilson carefully inserted the scissors between the cock ring and House's penis.  "This'll be intense," he warned, then snipped the rubber.   


As soon as his cock was free, House came, cum spurting all over his thighs and Wilson's gloved hand and dripping down to the carpet.  House groaned, probably the most arousing sound Wilson had ever heard in his life, and grabbed his cock to get himself through the aftershocks. Wilson stifled a moan of his own by biting his bottom lip, feeling his own arousal at the situation.  He wasn't gay. He didn't find men attractive.  Not even House. Well, not usually. But there was something about that guttural moan of pleasure that created a sympathetic response in his gut.  And cock.  


House let himself go and panted. "Thanks," he whispered, not opening his eyes.   


"No problem," Wilson answered, his voice a little lower than usual. He swallowed, cleared his throat.  


"You can jerk yourself off if you want," House offered. "I won't mind.  Hell, I’ll even do it for you."   


Wilson looked at the satisfied smirk on House's face and felt his cheeks heat up more than before. He remembered again the bourbon-flavored kisses he’d shared with House that night in New Orleans.  He remembered House’s glove-covered hand on him.  He couldn’t do that again, not when he was engaged.  He peeled off his gloves, refusing to look at House and let him see how tempting House’s offer was.    


And, God, it was tempting. He squeezed his eyes shut and let his mind follow the fantasy for just a moment. House’s hand on his erection… House’s mouth on his… House sucking his cock this time…  


He opened his eyes and met House’s, seeing the desire he felt mirrored there.  


“I —“  


“What the hell is going on in here?” Bonnie demanded angrily from the doorway.  Wilson turned on his knees, his face going immediately pale.  His erection melted like butter on a hot sunny day.  Just in boxers, there was no way she could’ve missed it, though. She wore a terry cloth robe over her nightgown, and her arms were crossed protectively over her breasts.  She looked about ready to kick him out.    


“It’s not what it looks like,” he began lamely.    


“It’s exactly what it looks like,” House said over him.  “Your fiancé just made me come,” he explained.    


Bonnie’s eyes widened in horror.  “Wha—“   


“But it’s not what you’re thinking,” House added, noting the pleading, stricken look on Wilson’s face.  “My girlfriend couldn’t get the cock ring off, so Wilson helped out.”  He gestured to the medical supplies around them.  He didn’t bother covering himself up, though.  Wilson sighed and began cleaning up, decidedly not looking at either of them.  When he was finished, he spared a glance at House, who had finally pulled up his pants.    


“Go home, House.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”    


House, standing and dressed, grinned.  “Bye, sweetie pie,” he said in a sing-song voice, leaving Wilson to deal with his angry fiancé.    



	3. Third Trial: Bee Sting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House gets stung in a very sensitive area.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> House expresses himself colorfully in this chapter. Lots of swearing.

The third time Wilson touched House’s penis was medical. There was no hint of sex in it at all, and for that, Wilson was grateful. He was also grateful that Bonnie had been there for the entire incident, forgoing any arguments about how improper it was for a man to touch his best friend’s penis. It had taken weeks for her to believe that he and House weren’t sleeping together after the incident with the cock ring, and only the arrival of Stacy in House’s life (and apartment) saved him from losing her.  


“Ow! Mother fucking — Wilson! _Wilson!“_  


House’s curses led Wilson and Bonnie to where House and Stacy were sitting, House up against a tree, Stacy hovering anxiously over him. House’s jeans were undone, though he was cupping himself to keep modest, and both their hair was in disarray, telling the world what they’d been doing when whatever it was happened that had House shouting for Wilson.  


“He got stung by a bee,” Stacy explained as Wilson got down on his knees next to his friend.  


“Well, all the swearing tells me he’s not going into anaphylactic shock,” Wilson replied with a twist to his lips. “House, you’re not allergic to bee stings,” he added helpfully, patting House’s knee.  


“Of course not, you moron!” House barked. “Get the damned stinger out!”  


“Where —?”  


“My dick. The motherfucking bee stung me on my motherfucking dick!”  


Wilson couldn’t help the laugh that burst from his mouth. The girls looked at him in horror as House’s expression went from angry and in pain to murderous.  


_“Wilson,”_ he snarled.  


“Bonnie, get the first aid kit from my trunk,” Wilson said, smothering his laughter. “Please.”  


Stacy continued hovering as they all waited for Bonnie to get back and House cursed a blue streak. Once Bonnie handed over the kit and a flashlight the two women disappeared to let Wilson take care of House in private.  


“Third time I’m touching your dick,” Wilson commented as he put on gloves.  


“Shut up,” House muttered.  


Wilson continued. “This is getting to be a pattern. We should talk about —“  


“Cocksucker,” House growled.  


Wilson pulled back from his examination of the bee sting.  


“What?”  


“You motherfucking cocksucking cowardly _bastard!_ ” House continued. “Any time — _Any_ time in the last six years you could’ve brought this up, and you choose now? _Now?”_  


“I don’t understa—“  


“I’m with Stacy, you idiot!”  


“But —“  


“It might be hard for you to believe, but I actually believe in being monogamous with the person I’m seeing,” House hissed. Wilson looked away, too hurt that House wouldn’t even talk to him about something that had been between them since the first time they met. “But that’s not something you understand, is it?” House asked nastily.  


Wilson’s head shot up.  


“I know about the nurse in Peds,” House continued to Wilson’s surprise and growing horror. “I know about the fling you had with that pretty oncologist you met at the conference last month. You can’t keep it in your pants, Jimmy-boy, and that’s not something I’m willing to deal with.” It was House’s turn to look away, his eyes closed, but the set of his shoulders tight with pain and sorrow.  


“House…”  


“Just get the damned stinger out,” House said with a grimace.  


“I wasn’t trying to come on to you,” Wilson said as he applied cream to the sting in preparation for finishing up the procedure.  


“Bullshit.”  


“I’m straight!”  


“You think I care about that?” House asked, meeting his eyes again. “I don’t care what you call yourself. And I don’t care that it’s taken you this long to get here. What I do care about is that you pick the absolute worst time to say something.”  


“So, what? You’re saying you’d… have sex with me? Date me?”  


House snorted through his nose in contempt. “Not anymore.”  


“Because you’re with Stacy.”  


“And you’re married.”  


“If we were to split up…” Wilson ventured hesitantly, thinking of the silent treatment from his wife, the cold dinners he came home to, thoughts of kissing House, and the desire to try more, or the fear that if he really admitted it, everything would change.  


“I’m still with Stacy,” House answered. “I’m not leaving her for some fantasy that you’ve come to your senses after six years.”  


“You’ve — wanted me that long?”  


“Yes! We made out and jerked each other off the first day we met! I got you a job at my hospital! I spend more time with you than anyone except my girlfriend. We flirt like crazy, and don’t say you don’t flirt back, because you do! If that’s not a sign of wanting someone, I don’t know what is!”  


Wilson paused, deep in thought. “I thought it was because we were drunk,” he admitted. “That first thing.”  


“Tell yourself whatever you want,” House muttered. “God only knows how deep your denial is.” He tucked himself back into his underwear and zipped up his jeans.  


“Does Stacy know? About New Orleans?”  


House looked at him as if he were stupid. “Of course not.”  


“I thought you shared everything with her.”  


“Does Bonnie know?” House countered.  


“No!” Wilson exclaimed. “It’s — That’s — That’s private. No one needs to know.”  


“You ever think of me when you screw her?” House persisted.  


“No!”  


“Too bad. I’m a great lay.”  


“You want to back that up with —“  


“Fuck off. You missed your opportunity.”  


Wilson glared. He wanted to wipe that look off House’s face. He wanted to kiss it off his face… “I guess there’s nothing more to say,” Wilson said, snapping closed the first aid kit. He couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Maybe if he were single again, but not now.  


“I guess not,” House replied, pulling up a mask of indifference to hide the sorrow Wilson had glimpsed so briefly.  


Things were strained between them for a few weeks, but the stress blew over, as it always did. Wilson pretended that the conversation never happened, and House let him, not wanting to deal with the reality that he just might have left Stacy if Wilson pushed him any farther than he had and how much the thought terrified him that someone else had such a hold over him.  



	4. Fourth Trial: Post-Infarction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House calls Wilson in the middle of dinner with his in-laws.

The fourth time Wilson touched House’s penis, House was barely conscious. For the first part, anyway.  


Wilson got the emergency page halfway through dinner with his in-laws. He glanced down at his pager, getting the expected _“House - 911”_ message. Since Stacy left, he got the page at least three times a week, often four or five. Part of him just wanted to move in with his friend, to be there to help him. Not that House or Bonnie would allow that. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and excused himself from the table. In the kitchen, he dialed House’s cell phone.  


“House? What’s wrong?”  


“I fell,” House said in a soft voice, the pain clear in his tone. “Can’t reach the crutches.”  


“Where are you?” Wilson asked, already extremely worried, for more than just the fall and the potential damage to House’s bad leg. House hated his crutches. He despised them. If he was in a dire enough situation to have used them, something was very wrong. “Where’s the nurse?”  


“Hallway,” House answered, his breathing becoming more pained. “Sent her home an hour ago. Thought I’d sleep the rest of the night.”  


“How’s the pain?” Wilson blurted without thinking. House hated that question almost as much as he hated the crutches.  


“Eight,” House said.  


“Would you consider going to the hospital? I can have an ambulance —“  


“No!” House barked, interrupting him. “It has to be you.”  


“I’m on my way.” Wilson hung up the phone and returned to the dining room where his wife and her parents sat eating. He turned to his mother-in-law with an apologetic smile.  


“I’m so sorry, but it’s an emergency,” he said.  


She understood. Both she and her husband understood. Wilson was a doctor, and doctors were sometimes called away from the dinner table. That was the price to pay for marrying someone as kind and well-off as Dr. James Wilson, oncologist. They were happy that their daughter had a husband who cared so much about his patients. It meant he cared about her, too.  


Bonnie was not so understanding. She followed him to the bedroom and watched with arms crossed over her breasts as he packed an overnight bag.  


“It’s House, isn’t it?” she demanded, the brittle, jealous edge in her voice that had been cropping up more and more frequently lately.  


“He needs me,” Wilson replied, grabbing a tie.  


“ _I_ need you,” she protested.  


“Not as much as he does.”  


“You cut our honeymoon short for him!” she growled in that angry whisper that sounded like a shout. “You cut our vacation short for him! We haven’t had a real vacation since our honeymoon, and you cut this one short for him, too! You haven’t spent three nights in a row at home since we got back. Why is it always you?”  


“He has no one, not since Stacy left.”  


“What about the nurse you forced him to hire?”  


“She got off an hour ago.” He zipped his bag closed.  


“What about Dr. Cuddy?”  


“She’s our boss. He doesn’t trust her, anyway, after how she handled everything with the infarction and Stacy’s decision. You know this!”  


“I’m not sure what I know anymore,” she hissed. “It’s been months!”  


“Please, Bonnie, he needs me. Please.” Wilson hated begging, but he would do it for House. He’d do just about anything for House.  


“Are you sleeping with him?”  


The question hung in the air between them as the silence lengthened. She’d never actually asked before, just made comments and insinuations. They’d fought about it, too, but she’d never used those words, said it so plainly.  


“No,” Wilson said simply. He wasn’t, and that was the truth. He wasn’t sleeping with anyone. He and Bonnie had tried on their vacation, but Stacy called while they were in the middle of it, saying that House was dying and Wilson needed to come home. He hadn’t hesitated. Since he’d seen House in the hospital, he couldn’t stomach the idea of sex. All he wanted was to help House recover.  


She sighed and let her arms drop to her sides when she realized that he wouldn’t say anything else. He wondered briefly if she believed him. He realized that he didn’t care either way. “Fine.” Her tone of voice was resigned.  


“Thanks, sweetheart,” Wilson said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. He dashed out of the house and jumped in his car, his wife and her family forgotten in the pressing need to get to his friend.  


.  


.  


.  


House was barely conscious when Wilson arrived, passed out in the hallway in a puddle of his own urine. There were tears of pain and humiliation on House’s cheeks. Wilson ignored the tears as he took off his jacket and knelt by House to check his vitals.  


“House? House, talk to me. What’s your pain level now?”  


House groaned and grabbed for Wilson’s hand. “It’s past a ten,” he moaned. “I can’t take it, Jimmy! You’ve gotta do something!”  


“Where’s the morphine?” Wilson demanded.  


“Under the bed,” House said, his willingness to tell Wilson without a protest or fight indicating exactly how bad the pain was. House usually had to be coerced into taking morphine. Wilson rushed to get it. He knew that he had to help House with the pain before he could do anything else. Returning with the box, Wilson set it down next to House and touched his shoulder lightly.  


“House, I’m going to have to roll you over,” he warned. “It’s probably going to hurt.”  


House gritted his teeth and nodded, allowing Wilson to roll him onto his back. He started crying again. “Jimmy!” he moaned.  


“I’m here, Greg. I’m here,” Wilson said over and over as he prepared the morphine. These were the only times they used first names with each other, when one of them was in pain. Wilson didn’t mind. It made their relationship seem more intimate, somehow, like they had a secret from everyone else. He wished, in the deepest part of his mind, that he’d get to call House ‘Greg’ in a situation that was based on pleasure instead of pain. He nursed that hope in silence, though, ever since House rejected him two months before the infarction. They’d barely been back on good terms when it happened, and House had angrily accused him of running away when Wilson left for his vacation. Five days later Wilson was back on a plane bound for home, going straight to the hospital.  


Once House was more comfortable and drifting on a haze of morphine, Wilson took the time to assess the situation. House had fallen face-down in the hallway, which probably meant that he hurt his still-recovering leg. His crutches had flown away from him and were at the far end of the hallway well out of reach. He must have been there a long time to have had to pee, and Wilson frowned at how long House must have gone before he called for help. He probably sent the nurse home earlier than he told Wilson.  


“I’m going to run the bath,” Wilson told his friend. “Then we’ll get you cleaned up and I’m going to massage your leg. No protests from you, got it?” House didn’t acknowledge him beyond a grunt.  


.  


.  


.  


It took a long time to get House to the bathroom and seated on the closed toilet lid, and then even longer to get House out of his clothing. He willingly took off his shirt, but when it came time to take off his ruined jeans, he refused. He also wouldn’t let Wilson do it. They argued for a little while until Wilson snapped on some more gloves and reached for House’s fly. Surprised by Wilson’s initiative and still under the influence of the morphine, House gave in. The dry urine was starting to itch, and he knew the embarrassment of Wilson seeing him naked and covered in piss was far less than the embarrassment of having to call a stranger to deal with it. That’s why he’d chosen Wilson in the first place.  


Besides, Wilson had been helping him for months, and this was hardly the worst thing they’d had to deal with.  


Once House had decided to cooperate, he allowed Wilson to maneuver him around the bathroom with minimal complaining. The sigh of relief when Wilson helped him sit in the tub of hot water was genuine. Wilson left him to his own devices for a few minutes while he cleaned up the hallway and sorted House’s laundry. House knew he’d send it all out to be cleaned for him. He could hear Wilson humming to himself as he puttered in the kitchen, and he smiled in a dopey, on-morphine way. He liked having Wilson in his apartment.  


He liked Wilson. He wanted Wilson. He wanted Wilson to want him. He wanted Wilson to be _free_ to want him.  


But it was never going to happen. Wilson was married, and House respected that, even if Wilson didn’t.  


He drifted back to awareness to feel Wilson’s hands in his hair, rubbing shampoo through it. He sighed in pleasure.  


“Welcome back,” Wilson said with a chuckle.  


House blinked lazily at Wilson and smiled. Wilson had taken off his shirt, shoes, socks, and pants and knelt by the bathtub in just his boxers and a t-shirt. He looked gorgeous. “Kiss me,” House blurted.  


Wilson stiffened. “You don’t mean that.”  


“I do. Kiss me.”  


“You’re high on morphine. I’m not kissing you.”  


“But you want to,” House declared as if he’d solved one of his more complicated cases. “You want to kiss me. You’ve wanted to kiss me for years.” He paused, then made a revelation he hoped would convince Wilson. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for years, too.”  


Wilson ignored him and washed the suds out of his hair, then scrubbed his back with a soapy washcloth. “Can you manage washing your front, or do you need me to do it?”  


“I have something you could wash,” House murmured, tugging on his cock. The morphine was making him sloppy. It was making him reckless. Wilson rolled his eyes and handed House the soapy cloth.  


“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Then you’re going to bed.”  


“Yes, Mom.”  


.  


.  


.  


After awkwardly hobbling to the bedroom together, Wilson’s arm around House’s waist and House’s arm around Wilson’s shoulder, House willingly lay on his bed, though he refused to accept the boxers Wilson offered, saying that it would be easier for Wilson to do the massage on his thigh if he weren’t wearing them. Wilson sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. He was good at massage, had taken extra lessons with the physical therapists when it seemed like House would accept him doing it and House was occasionally naked during the massages, but that had more to do with the pain than anything else, when putting on boxers would make the pain so much worse. High on morphine, House shouldn’t be able to feel that level of pain. Or shouldn’t be able to care about it, if he did feel it.  


Tonight, House seemed different. Playful, almost. Sexual.  


Wilson didn’t want to be tempted, but he was.  


He was only human, after all, and as House had pointed out more than once, fidelity was hardly Wilson’s strong suit.  


House was his best friend, and he didn’t want to lose that.  


He promised himself he wouldn’t give in. House was on drugs. He couldn’t consent. Last time the subject came up, House had refused even talking about it.  


As Wilson climbed onto the bed and settled a towel under House’s leg, he watched his friend’s expression. His eyes were closed and he had a rare smile on his face. He wished he were the source of the smile instead of the morphine. Wilson warmed the lotion between his hands and began the massage.  


The last knot melted under his fingers, and Wilson finally let himself relax. House moaned in pleasure. Between the morphine and massage, he’d be free of pain for a little while, Wilson knew. He’d hopefully be able to sleep.  


“Jimmy,” House murmured, running his fingers through Wilson’s hair. A gentle touch, it sparked Wilson’s not-quite-absent libido. He willed it down and concentrated on extending the massage. House’s leg might be the part of him in the most pain, but the rest of his body was strung tight, and the other muscles needed a break, too. House continued stroking his hair while Wilson worked, murmuring softly the kinds of things lovers said to each other.  


Wilson was gently massaging House’s pectorals when he noticed that he was straddling House and that House’s erection was prodding him in his boxer-clad ass. He looked up at House.  


“First one since the infarction,” House whispered, tilting his hips to tell Wilson what he was talking about. “Shouldn’t be able to happen with the morphine.”  


“I can leave so you can take care of it,” Wilson answered, not stopping the massage. Unconsciously, he rubbed his thumbs over House’s nipples, earning him a soft groan and another thrust of House’s hips.  


“Stay,” House purred. He touched Wilson’s cheek. Wilson closed his eyes. The temptation to lean over and kiss House got more intense. He tried to resist. He _needed_ to resist. House’s other hand rested on the back of his head, fingers massaging his scalp. “Please, Jimmy,” House whispered, his breath hot on Wilson’s face. When had he leaned over that much? “Please kiss me.”  


“I shouldn’t,” Wilson managed to gasp out. His nose brushed House’s. “We shouldn’t.”  


“Just a kiss, Jimmy,” House pleaded. He tugged on Wilson’s head, pulling him down until there was no room between them and they were kissing, lips parting and tongues touching, teeth clicking and House’s stubble brushing Wilson’s face in one of the most erotic sensations he’d ever experienced. Better than those drunken kisses in New Orleans, because back then House had only had a five-o’clock shadow rather than the current three days of stubble House preferred. He’d presented a paper at the conference before he bailed Wilson out of jail, Wilson knew, and his boss had made him shave before the talk.  


Wilson settled his weight against House, careful to avoid his injured leg. They kissed tenderly. Small, gentle kisses slowly became more passionate. Wilson allowed himself to touch House’s face, as House was touching his. He let go of his doubt and fear and kissed House with all the feelings he’d been holding in since that first night in New Orleans eight years before.  


Wilson had never felt like this before. He’d never kissed anyone like this before, either, not even Bonnie or his first wife when they were the most idealistic and naive about their prospects.  


“Greg,” he gasped between kisses. “Greg, Greg!”  


“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” House replied. He moved to kiss Wilson’s jaw, his throat. Wilson moaned and returned the kisses. “God, I wish I could fuck you right now.”  


“Why can’t you?” Wilson asked, rubbing himself against House’s groin. He was hard, had been hard for a while, and really wanted to do something about it. “I could fuck you,” he suggested.  


“Leg won’t let me. It’s not strong enough,” House answered angrily. “It’ll start hurting again. I finally have you and I can’t do anything about it! Fuck!”  


“We’ll figure something out.” Wilson tried to soothe him with more kisses. “Something,” he continued. “Anything.” He shifted and reached between their bodies to find House’s cock and start stroking it. House moaned and surged up to kiss him even harder. House’s fingernails dug into his back, under his t-shirt, scratching him lightly. He slipped his hands under Wilson’s boxers to cup his ass. “God, House,” he gasped.  


“My Jimmy,” House responded, sucking on Wilson’s Adam’s apple. He kissed his way down Wilson’s neck.  


Wilson grunted, feeling House’s teeth on his shoulder. Then House’s fingers slipped between his asscheeks and he gasped. “Greg?”  


House didn’t respond in words, simply moved his hands to Wilson’s shoulders and pushed. Wilson didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what he wanted and started kissing his way down House’s body.  


Wilson had never sucked cock before. He’d been the happy recipient, sure, and watched more porn than he wanted to admit, but he’d never done it. Yes, he’d thought about it, fantasized about it, dreamed about it. He’d gone so far as to finding some videos online with names like: _“Fellatio 101”_ and _“How to give head.”_ He’d jerked off to gay porn, picturing himself and House in those situations. He’d practiced stretching himself, alone at home when Bonnie was out and wouldn’t be back for hours. He’d taught himself to appreciate prostate stimulation and waited eagerly for the day House would be the one doing it to him.  


Now, faced with House’s cock, he had no doubts. House wouldn’t expect him to be an expert. Whatever he could do would be okay. After eight years waiting for this, whatever he did would be okay. He started with a broad lick from bottom to top. House made an appreciative noise, and his hands found their way to Wilson’s head again. His fingers moved through Wilson’s hair. He didn’t push or direct. He seemed relaxed and happy to let Wilson do whatever he had in mind.  


It took a few minutes for Wilson to feel comfortable with the experience. He had to get used to the unusual flavor and the heaviness on his tongue. He had to acquaint himself with the way House moved and how far he thrust. He had to keep himself from choking or gagging.  


House seemed to enjoy his novice attempts, which gave Wilson confidence to continue. It was turning him on, and he rutted against the sheets, unable to jerk himself off while he used both hands on House. He felt House’s balls tighten and knew he must be about to come. He sucked harder.  


With a load groan, House came. Wilson tried to swallow, but the taste and thickness of the liquid surprised him and he choked briefly. House, not completely finished, thrust his hips up and his cock deeper into Wilson’s throat. Wilson coughed. He gagged. House’s cum dribbled out of his mouth and dripped down House’s cock. He managed to swallow what was in his mouth and licked up the rest. House groaned again, more in pain than pleasure. Wilson raised himself to see House’s face.  


“Greg?” he asked, rubbing the excess cum off his mouth with the back of his hand.  


“I need to sleep,” House responded. Wilson’s arousal wilted slightly. Had House not liked it?  


“Did you —“  


“Pain’s getting bad again,” House muttered, reaching for the vicoden on his bedside table.  


Wilson sighed. He knew not to expect anything from House when he was in pain. He climbed off the bed, wiped House down with a damp cloth he’d brought into the bedroom to wipe off excess lotion, and left for the bathroom. Inside, he sat on the toilet and jerked off quickly, not wanting blue balls, but taking no real pleasure in it. House hadn’t liked the blowjob, even though he’d managed to get House to come. Wilson hung his head in shame.  


He’d ruined their relationship, and for what? Nothing.  


.  


.  


.  


When Wilson returned from cleaning up and brushing his teeth, he found House curled up on his left side, the comforter pulled over himself. He was shaking.  


“House?” he asked, rushing over to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “House, are you ok?”  


“What’s wrong with me, Wilson?” House asked in a small voice, and Wilson realized that House was crying. Again. He’d already seen House cry twice that night, so seeing it for a third time threw him even farther out of his comfort zone. He tried for a normal tone of voice.  


“You had an infarction, you’re —“  


“You don’t get it! There’s gotta be something wrong with me. Everything goes wrong, and it never gets any better!”  


“Well, there’s a lot wrong with you —“ Wilson began in the teasing tone they used with each other when giving and receiving shit. He tried to forget how House hadn’t liked the blowjob.  


“Even my morphine dreams are disappointing!” House moaned, curling farther into himself and away from Wilson.  


“Morphine dreams?” Wilson said in a voice that cracked, sitting down on the bed.  


“It was going so well…” House continued. “Then it just —“ He broke off. “Never mind.”  


Wilson licked his lips before responding. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, but he knew he had to ask. He wouldn’t be able to sleep if he didn’t ask. “What was it about?”  


“Sex with a hooker,” House barked. “Now leave me alone!”  


Wilson ran his hands through his hair. “A hooker?”  


“Brown hair, brown eyes, gorgeous mouth. Just didn’t know how to swallow.”  


Wilson jumped to his feet. “House!”  


“Too much information?” House asked with a sneer. “No one but a hooker will have me with this scar. Leave me alone,” he repeated.  


“I’ll, um, I’ll be in the living room if you need me,” Wilson said, turning away. His eyes were burning.  


“Bonnie kick you out?”  


“What do you care?”  


“I don’t.”  


There was a long pause.  


“Well? Did she?”  


“No. But I’m not leaving you alone the rest of the night after a dose of morphine,” Wilson declared. “Goodnight, House,” he muttered, leaving before he could hear House’s response. Alone in the living room, Wilson sat on the couch, put his head in his hands and sobbed.  



	5. Fifth Trial: Catheter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House hasn't peed in days... He goes to Wilson for help.

The fifth time Wilson touched House’s penis was unexpected. And rather anticlimactic after the thwarted fantasies Wilson had been having on and off for years.  


Wilson’s office door burst open. He glanced away from Mr. Mendelson for a brief moment to assure himself it was House.  


“With a patient,” he said curtly.  


House’s eyes scanned the MRI on the light board behind the patient’s head for a millisecond. He tossed a medical kit onto Wilson’s desk and leaned on his cane. “He’s in remission. Been in remission for eight years. Reschedule.”  


“House —“  


“It’s all right, Dr. Wilson,” Mr. Mendelson said. “I’m in good health, and Dr. House is right. I can come back later.”  


“Exactly!” House said. He made a shooing motion. “Now get out.”  


Mr. Mendelson left without another word, though he’d winked at House. Winked! Wilson glared at his best friend. “What is it?” he demanded angrily. “And why does he agree with you like that?”  


“Jacob and I are besties,” House replied with a hint of a smile. “I diagnosed his granddaughter six months ago. She’s doing fine, by the way.” His usual grumpy expression returned. “Now come to the clinic with me. Bring that.”  


Wilson picked up the kit House tossed on his desk and examined it. “A catheter kit?”  


“I haven’t peed in two days, and I don’t feel like cathing myself this afternoon,” House replied. “I’ll need antibiotics for a bladder infection, too.”  


“Two days?”  


“Yeah, it hurts. Would’ve been longer, but I cathed myself two nights ago. You gonna help, or what?” House growled.  


Wilson stood up. “Fine. I’ll be there in twenty.” He handed back the kit.  


.  


.  


.  


House was already sitting on the exam table in Exam Room One when Wilson arrived. They locked eyes.  


“Don’t go thinking this is an opportunity to take advantage of me,” House warned playfully.  


Wilson shook his head. “Taking advantage of you is hardly number one on my agenda,” he said dryly. “Though how I’ve managed not to all these years remains a mystery.”  


“You’re a man of steel,” House joked. “At least that’s what Julie says.”  


“My wife wouldn’t talk to you about that kind of thing,” Wilson protested, rising to House’s bait without meaning to. “She hates you.”  


“True, but Bonnie says you’re a great lay.” House snickered. “And we all know I’m —“  


“Keeping Princeton’s hookers employed?” Wilson interrupted angrily, the shame of the incident a few years ago coming back in full-force. He pulled on gloves and opened the kit. “Take your pants off.”  


“If you insist, _Doctor._ ” House batted his eyes flirtatiously.  


“While it makes my afternoon to handle your penis, House, I could do without the blatant come-ons.”  


“You know you want me,” House protested.  


“Yes, yes, I want you,” Wilson reassured him in a bored voice that usually placated House when he was in one of these moods. “Now drop your pants.”  


Moodily, House complied, and Wilson began the procedure. Neither of them spoke beyond a few medical questions and answers. House grunted when Wilson inserted the catheter tube, even with the lidocaine gel, and Wilson rubbed his left thigh in sympathy. He turned away to give House some privacy as he urinated.  


“Fuck,” House breathed, sighing in pleasure as the urine left his bladder. “Almost as good as a blow job,” he added.  


Wilson chuckled as he started cleaning up. “Only you would say something like that.”  


“No, I’m serious. You’ve never been in this situation, have you?”  


“No, can’t say that I have.”  


“I wouldn’t recommend it, but if it happens, enjoy it.”  


Wilson’s lips twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind.”  


“A big dump, though, that’s pretty good, too,” House mused. “Nothing like anal, but good for what it is.”  


“That’s disgusting.”  


“It’s biology,” House responded. “What, you’ve never done it with your wives or girlfriends?”  


“Anal sex? That would be a big no.”  


“None of them wanted it through the back door?” House persisted. “None of them ever did you?”  


“I’m not talking about this with you,” Wilson said, waving his hands in the air.  


“Anal sex is great!” House enthused. “I could show you —“  


“Do you want a leg bag?” Wilson interrupted, shutting down the conversation. If he didn’t, he’d have to think about that night, and if he thought about that night, he’d think about what else he fucked up between them.  


“That’s better than staying here all afternoon,” House said, his voice suddenly distant and his eyes focused on the wall behind Wilson’s head. Wilson felt a stab of disappointment that House had stopped flirting. He’d been enjoying it, while pretending not to, of course.  


Wilson helped set up the bag and disposed of the waste. “All set?”  


“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”  


The silence felt stifling as they returned to their floor together.  


“House would do Wilson before you’d do Chase,” Foreman declared loudly enough that both House and Wilson heard him from the hallway.  


House tilted his head and looked at Wilson sideways. “I’d do you tonight,” he said. “If you wanted.”  


Wilson shot him a murderous look. “No, House.”  


“What, I’m not good enough any more?”  


“We’re not having sex!”  


“No, we’re _making love,_ ” House corrected in a voice calculated to carry into the conference room where his three fellows were supposed to be discussing a case. Wilson felt his entire face turn beet red. It was matched by the blushes on Cameron and Chase’s faces.  


“House!” he hissed angrily.  


House shrugged and threw himself into the differential diagnosis.


	6. Sixth Trial: Fifteen Years In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Wilson touches House's penis without latex between them.

When Wilson first touched House’s penis without latex between them, it was House who prompted the activity, albeit unwittingly.  


“What’s wrong with you?” House asked briskly in a slightly nasty tone of voice. Wilson stared at the back of his head, frowning. “Besides the usual, I mean.”  


“Nothing,” Wilson replied, his voice dull. “I’m getting out of here.”  


House turned to look at Wilson over his shoulder from where he sat on the couch. “At 11 o’clock at night?” he demanded. “The only things open are bars and strip clubs. Why drink somewhere else when I’m right here and have cheaper beer?”  


“Maybe I’m going to a strip club,” Wilson said challengingly. He wasn’t in the mood for House’s teasing. Not tonight. Maybe not ever again. “Besides, I bought the beer.”  


“You know the rules: My fridge, my beer. You wouldn’t know how to get around a strip club by yourself. I leave you alone there, you’ll end up with ex-Mrs. Wilson numbers Four and Five.”  


“You know what, House? You’re an ass.”  


“Takes one to know one,” House replied in his sulky, childish voice, turning back to the TV. He became pensive quickly, though, muting the sound. “No, seriously, why are you leaving? You live here!”  


“It’s time for me to find my own place.”  


“Come on, you like being here. I haven’t been a jerk in days!”  


“I’ve only been here a few days!”  


“That’s exactly my point. There’s no way you’re sick of me yet. _I’m_ not even sick of _you!_ ” House added, as if that were the only important piece of the discussion.  


“House…” Wilson warned, though he didn’t put his hands on his hips. He wanted to, but it would prolong the argument and make House tease him about what it meant for his psychology that he always did it when frustrated. He couldn’t deal with that much of House’s attention right now. He was tired, and he had to get away. It was too hard, sleeping on House’s couch, knowing House was in the next room, knowing he’d ruined any chance of being with him years ago with a sucky blow job House didn’t even remember.  


He grabbed his coat and walked towards the door. House, moving as quickly as he could, managed to get around the couch before Wilson knew he was moving and slammed the end of his cane on the door, right above the doorknob where Wilson put his hand. “House!”  


“Cut the crap, Wilson. What’s going on?”  


“Nothing,” Wilson replied, turning away and crossing his arms over his chest.  


“I’ll give you one more chance. What’s going on?”  


“Nothing!” Wilson barked.  


“This isn’t nothing!” House said heatedly.  


“You know what? You’re not an ass,” Wilson said. “You’re an asshole!”  


“I’m an asshole because my best friend is acting like a dick and leaving in the middle of the night? Try again. What’s going on?”  


“Nothing!”  


“What’s going on?” House demanded again.  


“I’m lonely!” Wilson shouted at the top of his lungs. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, and every inch of his body language screamed tension. House’s eyes widened. “I’m lonely,” Wilson repeated in a normal voice. “I’ve gotten my third divorce, I was just dumped by my girlfriend, I’m lonely, and I’m in love with someone who won’t give me the time of day. I’m just sick of it all. I need a drink, and I don’t want _you_ as an audience.”  


“Who?” House asked quietly.  


“What?”  


“Who are you in love with?”  


“It doesn’t matter,” Wilson said, relaxing his fists and sighing. He took off his coat and slung it over the back of the couch, all the fire gone in the heat of his admission.  


“Of course it matters! It matters if it’s making you this miserable. Who is she?”  


Wilson laughed unhappily. “Nothing will ever happen,” he mumbled. He pushed past House to get beer from the kitchen, resigned to not leaving. He could manage one more night on the couch. He’d move out over the weekend. He could wait that long. He handed a beer to House as he settled on the couch again, crossing his legs and resting his feet on the coffee table as he usually did. “He doesn’t see me that way. I’m just a disappointment to him, anyway.”  


“He? Him?” House blurted. “You’re in love with a _man?_ ”  


“And this is why I didn’t want to talk you about this,” Wilson grumbled to himself.  


“Who is he?”  


“It doesn’t matter.”  


“Yes, it does!” House shouted. He threw the beer Wilson had given him so hard that it shattered against the wall. Wilson winced, knowing that he’d be the one to clean it later and hating House just a little for making the mess. “I haven’t waited fifteen years to be supplanted by some fly-by-night nobody who doesn’t give a damn about you! Who the fuck is he?”  


Wilson laughed humorlessly. “You? Waiting fifteen years? You haven’t made a single pass at me.”  


“I flirt with you all the time! You flirt back!”  


“You flirt with everyone. Didn’t you tell Chase he has nice hair? And Cameron thinks you hired her because you think she’s pretty. Besides, you and Cuddy —“  


“Like you’ve made a move on me,” House interrupted, turning sulky. “You’ve been between wives twice now. Between girlfriends. You’ve never indicated you were interested any of those times.” He paused and chanced a glance at Wilson. “The only time you’ve said anything was before the infarction, when we were both with other people. At least I tried. Remember the cock ring? I suggested getting together.”  


“You suggested I be your woman,” Wilson corrected.  


“Sounds like a come-on to me.”  


“Whatever,” Wilson muttered, throwing up his hands.  


They sat in sullen silence for a few minutes, not looking at each other, the TV flashing in the background.  


“You rejected me when I said something,” Wilson mumbled.  


“Do I need to repeat that we were both with other people? And I’d just been stung on my dick! There’s no way I could take anything like that seriously when in that much pain.”  


“You could’ve said something the next day, or the next boy’s night,” Wilson pointed out peevishly.  


“You think I’d be willing to open up that can of worms? After all we’d been through?”  


Wilson sighed and rubbed his eyes. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”  


“You didn’t say anything either.”  


“You rejected me. You think I was going to try again?” Wilson sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve never forgotten that night. In New Orleans.”  


“So instead of coming back to me, you go and fall in love with someone else while I’m right here? Who is he?”  


“Like I’d tell you. You’d probably go stalk him.”  


“Damn right!” House paused. “You really love him?”  


“I think so,” Wilson answered sadly. House grunted and lapsed into silence again.  


“I’ve never been with a man,” Wilson said out of nowhere. “I wouldn’t know how to go about it.”  


House snorted. “It’s not like he’d expect you to be perfect. If he’s into guys, he’d know it takes practice to be able to give a good blow job or do any of that stuff. He’d give you slack to learn. It takes —“ House stopped, and Wilson recognized his “ah ha” expression, when everything fell into place in House’s head and all the connections made sudden sense. He turned his entire body to face Wilson.  


“You said you’d just be a disappointment,” House said. “Like you knew the answer. Like you knew you already _had been_ a disappointment.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “That wasn’t a dream,” he said, his voice clear, sure of what he was saying. “It wasn’t a morphine-induced hallucination.”  


“It was real,” Wilson agreed. “I’d been thinking about it for a long time.”  


“Why that night?” House asked, his entire demeanor changing from anger that Wilson loved someone else to curiosity, hope, and the fear that Wilson was playing him and he’d just end up hurt like all the rest of the times in his life he opened up to someone.  


“You kept wanting to kiss me. You were high. I figured I could pretend that was all it was about, if it didn’t go well. It didn’t, so I could pretend, and you weren’t the wiser.”  


“While I totally believe that you’d take advantage of me like that, there’s got to be another reason,” House said. “Tell me the rest.”  


“That night was the first time Bonnie accused me of sleeping with you,” Wilson admitted reluctantly. “The first time she asked directly rather than just hints and insinuations.”  


“But not the last?”  


“No. You were the reason she left me. That and my affairs.”  


House turned away from Wilson again. “You never said anything. You never tried again after your divorce.”  


“What was I supposed to do? I already knew I gave disappointing blowjobs. I wasn’t going to try anything more complicated and risk messing it up.”  


“If I’d known it was real, it wouldn’t have been disappointing!” House declared. “That was the first time you’d sucked cock, right? I thought I was dreaming. You’re always good at it in my dreams.”  


“Yeah, mine, too,” Wilson muttered.  


“Julie accused you of sleeping with me, too, didn’t she?” House asked after a moment’s contemplation.  


“Yes. All the time.”  


“I’m the one you’re in love with,” House stated.  


“Yes.”  


“Are you willing to give it a try?”  


“Having sex with you? Yes.”  


“It can’t just be sex, Wilson,” House said. “I want the relationship.”  


“You want to be out?”  


“I might talk about being straight, but I’ve never hidden that I’m bi to the people who matter. I don’t intend to start now that I’d actually be dating a man.”  


“That’s what you want? To date me?”  


House shrugged, his expression closing off.  


“Because I’m — I’m fine with that,” Wilson finished. “We’d, uh, we’d have to figure out how to deal with it at work, but, in theory, I’d be fine with people knowing. People already think we’re together.”  


“Stacy knows,” House said suddenly.  


“She knows what? That you’re bi?”  


“That I’ve wanted you as long as I’ve known you.”  


“She never gave me any indication…”  


“Of course she didn’t. I swore her to absolute secrecy.”  


“You lied to me,” Wilson accused. “You said she didn’t know about New Orleans.”  


“She doesn’t. I told her it was unrequited.”  


“Oh.” Wilson paused. “She _believed_ you?”  


House shrugged. “She asked if anything had come of it when we got together last year. I told her no.”  


“You didn’t stay with her very long.”  


“Being with her that one time reminded me of who I really wanted.”  


“Me.”  


“You,” House agreed. Wilson leaned against his side. He put a hand on House’s knee.  


“So, work?”  


“Cuddy will have kittens,” House said with a smirk.  


“She’ll think it’s one of our more elaborate pranks,” Wilson corrected. “At least at first.”  


“Cameron will cry,” House continued. “She’s still far too infatuated with me. It’s amusing, but it’s run its course. Maybe this will get her looking somewhere else. Chase will start a book on how long we’ll last.”  


“Foreman will pretend nothing’s changed, but he’ll glare at me every time I come into the room.”  


“He’ll secretly be jealous of my new, happier life.”  


“Happier life?”  


“I’ll finally be with you.”  


“Do you love me?” Wilson asked in a serious voice he rarely used with House.  


“I’ve been pining for you for 15 years,” House answered, giving Wilson the serious moment he craved. “You’ve outlasted everyone else in my life. You’re my best friend. What do you think?”  


“I think I’d like to hear it.”  


“If I say it, can we go have hot man-on-man sex in the bedroom?”  


Wilson paused as if to think. “Sure,” he answered with a smile on his face. “Just don’t expect perfection.” House rolled his eyes at him.  


“I love you,” House said. He leaned over and kissed Wilson on the lips. “Don’t expect me to say it often.”  


“I know, I know. Actions speak louder than words.”  


“Speaking of action…”  


Wilson laughed, and kissed House, and after a few minutes of steady making out, boldly rested his hand on House’s erection. House groaned, and pushed him over onto his back so they could dry-hump each other.  


Later, lying in bed naked and sated, Wilson felt House shift next to him. “Greg?” he asked softly, not wanting to lose the afterglow but suspecting that House was about to do or say something to destroy whatever equilibrium they’d just established.  


“You waited a week and a half to call me,” House said, and Wilson knew he was talking about the time right after they met. “Why?”  


“I didn’t find your number for three days. Then I had to decide what I wanted. I wasn’t ready to accept anything more than a friendship back then, not when you hadn’t said goodbye. There was another whole day to the conference, and you were gone. After all we’d done, I was hurt.” Wilson let them think about that answer before asking a question of his own “You left before I woke up. Why?”  


“I felt comfortable with you. It’s not something I was used to, so I ran.” House paused. “After this long, I figure you’re not going anywhere.”  


“I’m not.”  


They lay in silence for a few minutes, fingers moving lazily on skin.  


“I’m sorry.” Wilson said.  


“Me, too.”  


“I’m sorry it took me so long.”  


“I’m sorry I let you take so long.”  


Wilson shifted, stretching. He sat up and looked down at House, seeing the comfortable smile on his face. “You’re smiling.”  


House shrugged. “It happens.”  


“You knew this would happen!”  


“Pining for fifteen years, remember? Part of me still thought there was a slight possibility.”  


Wilson settled back down and cuddled up to House. “I cuddle,” he declared. “Get used to it.”  


“You also snore.”  


“I do not!”  


“Do, too! I have evidence.”  


“You’ve recorded me snoring?”  


“Of course,” House said, and Wilson heard the self-satisfaction in his voice. He wondered if he’d have to search for an audio file on House’s computer or do something as old-school as go through his cassette collection. Probably both, he decided. After a minute, House shifted and reached for his vicoden. “Go clean up the beer in the living room,” he ordered.  


“What?”  


“You heard me. I don’t want to wake up to sour beer and glass on the floor. Cripple, remember?”  


“I’m not turning into your housewife,” Wilson protested.  


“We’ll see about that,” House replied. He leaned over and kissed Wilson. “If you clean up the beer, I’ll let you cuddle with me,” he offered.  


“You were going to let me do that anyway!”  


“Maybe, maybe not. Go clean up.”  


With a disgusted sigh, Wilson got out of bed. He fully expected House to be asleep when he got back, and he wasn’t disappointed in that assumption. House would continue to be a selfish jerk, he knew, even though they were now sleeping together. He wondered if he’d be able to change that, if continued love over time would soften the man.  


He wasn’t holding his breath.


End file.
